


The Ballad of Heather Chandler

by eurydice_b



Category: 35mm: A Musical Exhibition - Oliver & Murphy, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Edgy, F/M, I can't laugh yet, I can't write too many tags without spoiling the fanfic please read it, Insane Heather Chandler, Murderer Heather Chandler, Really edgy, Slow Burn, Song: The Ballad Of Sara Berry, Suicide Attempt, The Ballad of Heather Chandler, They're all gonna die, but don't worry I put warnings, but it'll be worth it, it's based on an animatic btw, it's not gonna be just the song, kinda edgy, lots of fanservice, really violent at one point, so you have to wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice_b/pseuds/eurydice_b
Summary: When Martha gets elected Prom Queen, the world of Heather Chandler falls apart. And as she pushes away her friends and her popular life, she starts to lose herself, until finally, decides to kill everyone who betrayed her. A massacre at Westerberg high, omg, to whom could that be an appealing characteristic?I'm really bad at writing summaries, it's actually really good, please read it. And if you write a better summary pls send it to me, thank u.
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Jason "J. D." Dean, Jason "J.D" Dean/Veronica Sawyer (mentioned), Kurt Kelly/Heather McNamara (mentioned)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. My last Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is an AU, so I wanted to make some clarifications about it.  
> In this universe, it’s not the 80’, it’s the present. It is based on a Heathers animatic of “The Ballad of Sara Berry”, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z89rHIS50Gg please watch it cause it’s amazing. And also, it’s inspired directly by some comments on the video, so, if you are one of the people that commented, I love you and thank you very much. Also, in this universe, JD and Veronica weren’t a real thing, and of course, they didn’t kill Chandler. I can’t tell you too much cause it would spoil the story, but the last thing ‘canon’ that happened, was Dead Girl Walking.  
> I will make clarifications if I need it. Without further due, enjoy.

I feel myself laying down, but I’m too numb to realize what’s really happening. My head is spinning around, and my stomach feels like throwing up. In my numbness, I seem to feel like I’m moving. I’m in a car, I think. I try to pull myself up, but there’s something retaining my wrist. “Huh, I’ve been caught,” I think. Maybe it’s better this way. My real-life ended the second I became queen, and now, I’ll spend the rest of it on a shrink. It’s kind of poetic. The end of the B-word Queen, Heather Chandler. I’ll be an eternal teen in a legend. That doesn’t sound so bad.

**Two months earlier.**

Today is the day my life started to end. It’s a sunny day, quite pleasant. McNamara is walking beside me, a step behind of course. Everyone walks out of my way, and no one looks into my eyes for more than a second. Some of them, stare at the floor, and some of them drool looking at my clothes, my hair, my walk. Well, everything about me.

“So, Heather, what you wanna do today after school?”

“I don’t know Heather, weren't you gonna go out with Kurt?”

“Jerk canceled”

“I see. How stupid, who the hell does he think he is? He should know better than to ruin his status like that”

“Tots, that’s what I thought”

“Well, let’s hang out at my place. We should be deciding dresses for the prom anyway”

Before Heather can respond, I see Duke running towards us, her shoes making a fast ‘clack’ as they knock the floor. Although I didn’t know at that time, that was the last moment of my perfect life. The news that Duke was about to give me, would change my world forever.

“Omg Heather, you won’t believe what I just heard”

“Spit it out!” I urge.

“Hold onto something. Are you ready?"

"Shut up and tell me, Heather!"

Duke looks at McNamara, a little confused. I'm getting impatient. Duke should have noticed, cause she starts to talk.

"Remember Martha Dumptruck? She tried to kill herself!"

Holy shit, she really did it?

"Oh my god!" says McNamara, "you're kidding! There's no way she could bring herself to actually do it"

"That's exactly what I thought, but I heard some teachers talking about it, and Veronica Sawyer, you know, that loser that's always with her? I saw her crying"

"She should use her tears to clean my damn shoes," I say "I had to throw away a good pair after she fricking vomit on them at that party six months ago"

"True, they were nice shoes" McNamara agrees.

"What did you heard from the teachers?" I ask.

"Apparently, she can't even kill herself right. She just broke a leg, and because it took a long time to find her, the doctors couldn't save it"

"Are you saying..?" McNamara implied.

"Indeed Heather, she lost a leg"

"I bet she feels pathetic. I just can hear her thoughts. 'Now Ram never would love me, now that I'm a one-legged looser!'" I say.

"Like that's the reason Ram would never set eyes on her".

"Right?" I agree with McNamara.

"Anyway, I totally lost interest in this. Let's talk about dresses. If I don't look perfect when I get elected Prom Queen, then _I'm_ gonna kill myself. Although I would succeed".

The days after that continued without anything interesting. Our history teacher gave us the news about Martha and told us that "gladly" she's fine, and Miss Fleming gave us a ridiculous speech about suicide. But I couldn't care less about Martha Dumptruck, and the stupid Veronica Sawyer, who everyone suddenly seemed to care. No, of course not. Today is the day that the nominations for Prom Royalty start. 

All I could think was writing my name on that list. The first step to get my crown. It isn't a secret that of course, I will win. I'm the most perfect popular girl in this whole school. The bell rings, and I start to walk to the announcements board. I half-smile, my hair is punding my back as a step hard with my shoes, making my way to that list. Everyone looks at me, and although isn't weird for me to receive attention, something feels different. "Whatever," I think "non of these losers are gonna ruin my moment. They must know that today I'm especially happy, and that's why they look at me with such interest. Heather Chandler happy? That gotta be an extraordinary sight"

I'm approaching the list, just a few more steps.

"It actually isn't a big deal, it's so obvious I'm gonna win, that I don't think that anyone would dream, or dare, to postulate too..."

I look at the list.

There's a name already written on the paper.

 **And it's not mine**.

At that moment, I get a text.

_Yellow bitch: Heather, you're not gonna like this..._

There's a link attached to the text. It goes to a Twitter account.

@queenmartha 

"As a protest for teen suicide lack of prevention, the student of Westerburg High will unite and make Martha Dunnstock Prom Queen"

2000 followers.

Excuse me, what thE F...


	2. Socially dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, remember. This is not me talking, it's Heather, so if it's a little controversial well, Chandler's a bitch so I have to make her sound like one.  
> Enjoy.

Dinner is quiet. I can feel the gaze of my parents on me, but I stare at my plate as hard as I can. On it is a carrot, tomato, and lettuce salad, and a piece of chicken. I try to eat, mostly because I don't want to face my parents, so keeping my mouth full is a good way to avoid talking, but my stomach is closed. I know what they're thinking. My mom has a dark look, and my father's mouth is so shut that's only a line on his face. The silverware makes a loud noise when my mother grabs a tomato, or my dad cuts his chicken. 

" _They are so mad_ ," I think, " _They are so mad and it's so unfair._ " 

The past couple dinners had been exactly like this. They don't say anything, eat loudly in, I don't know, protest? And serve me my least favorite foods. The only thing that slightly changed, was that at first, they didn't even look at me. Now, they don't even watch what they put in their mouths, they just stare at me, waiting for me to say something.

When my dad lets a loud sigh come out of his mouth, I decide that I've had enough.

"What do you want me to say?" I snap, "That I'm sorry?"

"This is unacceptable Heather."

"What is, dad? The fact that a stupid girl tried to kill herself? Or that her even more stupid friend made a campaign to stop me from becoming Prom Queen? Or maybe, what you think that it's unacceptable, is that I didn't come running to say sorry to you like it wasn't my life but yours that is ruined."

"What your father and I mean is that is unacceptable that you don't care"

"Excuse me?" I respond, repressing the urge to nail mi fork on the dinner table, "Did either of you ask me how I feel? When, exactly, did I say or act like I don't care?"

"Don't use that tone with us, young lady. We know you, we know your stubbornness and your resilience. If you really cared, you would be doing everything in your power to make this right."

"I'm so sorry dad, I didn't know that you were coming to my school and seeing me do nothing." I spit with venom, "You don't know what I am or am not doing."

"I can tell just by looking at you. You didn't even do your eyeliner right this morning, yesterday you wore night shoes for school, and look at your nails, it's like you are _trying_ to ruin your public image. You have to fix this"

"You say it like I was the cause. It's not my damn fault that Dumptruck jumped the wrong way and survived. If I had something to do with it, I would have killed her properly."

"Heather!" my mom scream.

"Listen, girl. That tone is not going to lead you any further. We are telling you this for your own good. There are no such things as 'unimportant' wins. You have to take this seriously. Life is a prom." he approaches me, and gets the hair out of my face. A touch that feels like a caring father-daughter thing, but it's not. It's a manipulative move. "I know you won't disappoint me and mom..?"

My mother looks at me intensely from across the table, as my father awaits my response.

"Of course not, dad. I'll try harder, I promise."

"Good. Take care of your hair, it's a mess"

My hair looks exactly the same as always.

  
  
  


In my room, my phone can't stop ringing.

Heather and Heather are talking in the group chat and sending me direct messages too. I think I have a message from Ram, and like, a dozen Instagram notifications. But I don't want to look at them. I know that if I do, I would have to pass the infinite tweets and Instagram posts and stories about the 'suicide prevention campaign', and I don't want to. This is so stupid, it's not about teenage suicide, it's a losers vendetta against the actually important people. Just some geeks who couldn't be anything in life trying to have their 15 minutes of fame. I thought that I wouldn't need to care about this shit anymore since I made Veronica Sawyer a nobody. But apparently, that bitch didn't have enough. And now I have a school full of idiots who think they can steal my damn crown, just because someone thought "oh, what a great opportunity for me to use the suicide attempt of my best friend as a way to get back at Heather".

So that's why, I haven't touched my phone in days.

The last interaction I had with the social media world, was to upload a photo of my "vote for Heather Chandler" campaign. McNamara took the picture, and a virgin from some something-to-do-with-computers club edited it. And even then, I didn't even check anything. Just upload the photo, and gone. Is this what I fought for my entire highschool? For my thunder to be stolen by Martha frickin' Dumptruck? By a damn social media lame-ass campaign? This can't be happening.

I remove my make up, change into my red nightgown, and throw myself in bed. I will not be able to sleep, but if I stay awake, I'm going to have dark circles in the morning. So I'm gonna try to at least relax and rest.

Or so I thought.

_Green B is calling you._

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for texting right now?" I say.

"I don't know how you look Heather, you haven't been answering much," she responds in a sarcastic tone.

"If someone is not answering your multiple texts, it clearly means 'go away'. You two just need me this much? I know that you are nothing without me, but have some pride, it's only been a week."

"We are worried about you..." she starts to say.

"Shut up Heather, you couldn't care less. I bet that you are actually enjoying this. The only way that you could ever dream of taking some glow from me. Too sad that it's not for you."

I hang up and bury my face in the pillow.

My phone stops ringing.

  
  
  


Damn, I'm hungry.

I haven't eaten properly in days. I couldn't bring myself to do it. When I'm at school, the Heathers act really cold towards me. And in every hallway, my own image looks back at me from a "Vote Heather Chandler" poster. Of course I don't mind looking at myself, and a hundred of me watching every hallway, making everyone feel like I have eyes everywhere, it makes me feel powerful.

I love feeling powerful.

What bugs me is that I didn't do it because I was trying to make an impression, I did it because I _had_ to. As if _I_ had to prove something to someone. And they stare, with a superior look, and remind me "you're losing power over pity. Is that the best you can do?" And my stomach closes again. I never eat much anyway, but I have to stay healthy, so this non-eating-anything makes me feel weak.

I hate feeling weak.

I think about going into the kitchen and grabbing, or even making me something, but I really don't want to run into my parents, so suddenly I was in my car, going to some store that sells corn nuts or something.

I take a look at myself in the rear-view mirror. I look awful. I haven't brushed my hair well, part of my makeup is ruined, and the dark circles have stayed since that night. My dad is right. I definitely don't look like a queen. I have to make sure that no one sees me. Or maybe I should call Heather Duke. No one will notice by her side that I haven’t slept.

I take out my phone and start a call. It rings.

And rings.

And rings...

" _This is not the 80's, don't leave a message, DM me like a normal person_ ".

That's the first time I hear a voice mail.

No one ever dares to not pick up my calls.

What is that envious bitch doing that's more important than me? By now she should be climbing my leg like a tick and begging to help me with my Prom Queen Campaign.

I keep driving and decide that it's time to get back to social media. I was going to have to do it at some point anyway, I can't afford to be socially dead in a situation like this.

I go to Duke's profile and look at her stories to see what the hell she's doing.

I suddenly stop driving.

Lucky for me, I happen to be in a dark corner, not one car in sight.

But I didn't care. All I can do, is stare at my phone.

The screen shows me a photo of Martha in the middle of Duke and Mac. The hashtag '#marthapromqueen' is on it, and a lot of crown gifs surround them.

It’s tacky.

Disgustingly tacky.

And horrible, hideous, vexatious, and wrong, and it makes me angry.

So is that why they had been acting cold? The plan was to betray me while still enjoying my popularity?

"Is that what I get after everything I did for you? I have _one_ bad day and you stupid traitorous bitches take the opportunity to ruin me?!" I began to scream in my car.

I slap the wheel, making my palms burn. Tears of rage begin to fall through my face, as I keep screaming with impotence. 

"I don't deserve this. I worked so hard. And now everything is ruined by the hand of my so-called 'friends'. Ugh, I feel so STUPID". I slap my wheel again, next the seat, and suddenly I'm making a tantrum alone in my fucking car. My hair flies away from my bun, half of my eyeliner ends in my hands and the other half is spread on my cheeks. My clothes wrinkle as I move frenetically, and my palms really sting while hitting all I can find. Minutes pass, and I can't calm the fuck down. I force myself to keep my shit together, this garbage can't bring me down, and most importantly, I can't be seen like this. So I start breathing slower and slower. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make it look decent, and take a last deep breath.

I'm going to buy my fucking corn nuts.

And after that, those mega bitches are going to get a piece of my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated. Also if you have a suggestion let me know :)  
> Love u all. Not to hype you or anything but the next chapter is going to be really edgy. Can u guess why?


	3. Two gazes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention to detail, it's important for the chapter and the story.  
> Hang in there, I'm getting somewhere, I promise.  
> Enjoy <3

POV J.D

The 7-Eleven was quiet. There weren’t many people regularly anyway, but today it was different. The pale light of the place makes a blurred shadow behind my back as I wait for my drink to be done, and the machine making it is the only noise in the world. Not only were the halls in silence, but there was no car in the street as if an evil force indirectly sent the drivers to any direction but this one. I don't mind, I like it better this way. It gives me time to think.

Today I fought with my dad. I don’t remember why, and I think that I didn’t even know it at the time, and him either. We just… blow off steam by making each other sick. Well, having that in mind, I technically know why it was, although I wouldn’t admit it. So seeing that I’m not gonna be back home any time soon, I could use some peace and quiet. Maybe it will appease my appetite to kill my dad and I get to  _ not  _ go to jail another day. 

As if on cue, I hear someone burst through the door, and make their way in with loud steps. A blond head rushes past me almost stepping on my foot with their heels. “Move,” says a female voice, and before I can respond something like ‘I wasn’t in your path’, she turns the corner to another aisle and I lose sight of her. If it wasn’t because of the messy hair, and the fact that we are in the worst dirtiest shop in the state, I would swear that I just saw Heather Chandler without her squad outside of school. But it’s more probable that I’m just seeing things. Not because she’s alone, the only thing that is talked about in school is how low the leader of the Heathers did fall, disregarding her looks, her social media, her friends, her status, but the simple fact of running into her. It wouldn’t be weird for me to imagine it, seeing that the little scene that she, Veronica, and I shared is the only thought that crossed my mind in the past months. The last time Veronica gazed her eyes on me. One last disappointed and horrified look, after calling me ‘psychotic’ and before kicking me out of the kitchen we were standing in. I remember a cold, stabbing painful shiver going down my spine, and after that, everything was numb.

My mind tries to blame it on Chandler, telling myself that if at that moment she had stopped breathing, everything would be okay now. But the truth is that it isn’t Chandler’s fault that Veronica doesn’t have what it takes. So it doesn’t matter right now if she’s dead or not.

But knowing that in theory doesn’t stop me from searching every dark corner, every alley, every semi-private alone space I might be in, for an opportunity to be alone with her, and do what I should have done that day.

So a blond in the worst dirtiest and now quietest place on earth alone with me sounds like a perfect opportunity for my mind to do the trick. 

Knowing that it most definitely isn’t her just makes me angrier. I can’t believe that I get so emotional over just the sight of blond hair. I need to reboot my brain, and stop fucking seeing Heather Chandler in every murder-potential scene I can find myself in. Or I might  _ have  _ to kill her.

Good thing my slushie is ready.

I go to the cash register to pay for it. When I approach it, the blond slams the door on her way out, not even letting me see her face.

  
  


Outside, I take a sip of the cold beverage and a familiar throbbing pain stabs my head. I close my eyes, enjoying the numbest sensation that saturates me, and for a moment not a single thought crosses my mind. No Veronica, no Heathers, no murdering instinct, no last gazes, no nothing. Then the moment passes, and everything hits me like a train, but with the relief of a second of peace. 

I step away from the entrance and turn the corner. I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but this is not the way to my house, so this is fine. While I walk a voice starts to grow louder and louder. No one is responding, and I wonder if I’m about to run into a crazy person.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see.

The girl from the 7-Eleven is yelling at her phone. But this is not just  _ some  _ girl. I have in front of me, a messed up Heather Chandler.  _ ‘I found the evil force that’s preventing the drivers’ _ I say to myself. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes are crinkled, her make up is ruined, her voice is cracking, her legs are trembling, and the tone she’s using is nothing like the confident, demanding tone she uses at school.

_ ‘So she wasn’t crazy after all, I just can’t hear the other side of the conversation’ _ I think. 

“I’m a big girl, dad, I can go to the fucking grocery store by myself. That’s why I have a car, isn’t it?” she screams. Silence. “Oh really? Are you worried about me ‘cause I sound like I lost it? Or are you worried that someone might see me like this?” Silence. “I can drive myself back. I don’t need you. I DON’T NEED ANY OF YOU” she cries, and I suspect that that wasn’t for her dad. She hangs up and stares at the glass window in front of her. I assume that she’s watching her reflection, but the look in her eyes is the look you give to a stranger. A minute passes, and her wrathful expression slowly turns into what someone could catalog as a sad one. But I know that look.

That’s not sadness, it’s impotence and hopelessness. 

Her phone falls from her hand hitting the ground, and after a while, her eyes start to look empty. Now there’s no impotence or sadness on her face. There’s nothing, as if something had taken her everything, leaving only a skin hollow casquet behind. She doesn’t even notice me.

And my mind does it again.

I’m in a dark street, the last lights of the day begin to disappear, and there’s no one in sight. Just me, and Heather. She just fought with someone, and everyone knows that she’s not being herself lately. It would be so easy to just…

Suddenly, a cold, stabbing painful shiver runs down my spine, and I don’t feel comfortable standing here anymore. But at the same time, I can’t put a name to this feeling, nor can I find a reason as to why I feel this way. It annoys me that my mind keeps looking for this, and it annoys me that it annoys me. Why do I care? I never worried about these thoughts before. Nor do I have them when I lay awake in bed, feeling the need to check on how asleep my dad is. Just so I know how simple it would be.

I take a step back as if I could run from this feeling, and my sudden move makes Heather aware of my presence.

She seems to get back to reality and turns her head to face me, her eyes with annoyed arrogance as always, mixed with a furious ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ face. Nonetheless, I feel as if her eyes are piercing my skull with desperate strength. As if her wrath could keep her intact, and her looking at me is the only thing that prevents her from falling down to the floor. She doesn’t say anything, and the torrent of thoughts in my mind doesn’t let me think of something to say. We stare at each other in silence, me unable to speak, and she expecting me to give her an explanation.  _ ‘I wonder if she recognizes me’ _ , I think.

“What?” she says, “Do I have something in my face? Get lost. If I wanted anyone’s pity, it wouldn’t be yours.”

So she did recognize me. And she knows that I listened to her conversation.

The superiority in her tone, the choice of words meant to let me know that she knows everything that’s happening, that she’s in control, pushes me back to reality too.

“I stared cause you look a little out of it. I wouldn’t dream of helping you, Chandler” I say.

We stare again, but without the strange intimacy of before. She’s back to her queen appearance. And I’m back to being… well, a jerk.

The sudden normality of things seems to relax her, and instead of looking at me with hate, she just seems pissed. But not exactly with me.

“... are you voting for her too?” she asks.

It takes me by surprise. What does she care? She probably sees me as a number, one vote more or one less. But I’m uneased by the question. The way she seems to expect my response, almost longing for it, leaves me with a bitter taste.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally say “but I couldn’t care less about a pity vote”.

“That was really specific for ‘not knowing what I’m talking about’” she responds, trying to keep her voice up.

“Goodbye, Chandler. Try not dying in the street.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are chapters too short? Or it's just me? (I'm actually asking) but I'm pretty proud of what I did here.  
> Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed it.  
> Stay out of jail bbys <3


	4. Tomorrow

POV Heather

After my encounter with that boy, I return to my house. In the car, I remove my ruined makeup with my sleeve, even when it gets stained with black eyeliner and red eyeshadow. When my face is clean, I start fixing my hair. The mirror is too small to show me my whole face, so I take my time, starting from the end of my hair, making my way up, untangling it. At first, my hand is trembling, and I have to make an effort not to cry again. And then, it gets easier. When my hair is soft again, I pull it into a ponytail with my red scrunchie and get out of the car. Still eating the corn nuts that I bought, I open the door and lock it again once I’m inside. I leave my bag in the coat rack and begin to walk into the huge living room, making my way to the stairs to my room. My expression looks calm, but I’m digging my nails in my palms.  _ ‘Please don’t be here. Please don’t be waiting for me. Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll deal with you, not today, please not now…’ _

When I close my bedroom door behind me, I can breathe again. I take out my heels and put them in their place. I’m so exhausted, and everything hurts.  _ ‘I’ll go to bed. Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll deal with this, not today’ _ . On my way to bed, I accidentally look at myself in the mirror and drop the bag of corn nuts I was holding. The treat spreads on the floor, and I think that I step on a few of those as I approach the mirror, but I don’t feel the pain.

My whole face is red.

My lips are swollen from biting them and have a strong red shade, and my teeth are stained because of my lipstick. My skin is colored with a natural pale red color because of the crying, and even my ears had turned in that color. But my eyes… They return my look, but they are so puffed that I can barely keep them open, and I can see all the veins in my sclera, red surrounding a green iris that’s not there anymore because of my dilated pupils. I try to lean my hand into my reflection and notice the marks on my palm. I turn it around and stare at my hands. My nails had perforated my skin, leaving half-circles of blood there when I pressed too hard. I look at myself in the mirror again and put my hands on my cheeks, feeling the cold of my palms in my hot cheeks and leaving little traces of blood on them, and smile, with my now red teeth showing.

_ ‘What a nice color’ _ I think.

_ ‘You’re right’ _ my reflection answers.

I fall on my knees closer to the mirror feeling weak. I’m not smiling anymore, but the reflection doesn’t seem to change. Heather is looking down at me.

“That should be me,” I say, out loud this time, “I should look everyone from above and smile”.

_ ‘You’re right’  _ the other one replies again, _ ‘this is how everyone should be looking at you. Below from the stage, watching you taking the crown on their knees’ _ .

I know that I’m real, but suddenly, I feel like the fake one. I put my hand in the mirror at the height of her heels, as if I could go through it, go into the real world, and leave this nightmare behind.

_ ‘But you can’t sweetie’ _ the right Heather says, kicking my hand away making a disgusted expression that quickly returns to a smile,  _ ‘you brought this nightmare on yourself, and now, you have to make yourself wake up’. _

“I don’t understand”.

_ ‘Yes, you do. Find the cause of it’. _

“The cause of what?”

_ ‘Of the nightmare, silly’ _ she laughs. Or was it me? I’m not sure.  _ ‘It will be like taking the foundations of a building. Without the sustain, the nightmare will end’ _ .

The room was getting darker and darker, and the reflection was losing strength.

_ ‘Afraid of the dark, Heather?’ _

I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid to stop looking at the image in the mirror. I want to stare at it forever, trapped in an eternal fantasy. It feels real, who cares if it’s not.

_ ‘I don’t deal with half-done stuff. You want this?’ _

“I’ll do it myself,” I complete, “and I will not have to look in a mirror to see you”.

The light disappears too soon, but I don’t move from my position on the floor.

_ ‘Tomorrow the sun will be back, tomorrow I’ll see her again. Tomorrow I’ll tell her, but not today. Tomorrow I’ll talk with my dad, but not now. Tomorrow won’t be dark anymore, tomorrow… _

_ Tomorrow I’ll deal with you’. _

  
  


When I wake up, I’m still on the floor. My knees hurt, and my eyes hurt. I rub them as I stand up and go to the bathroom, and stepping on the cold tiles awakes me. In the bathroom, I take a long shower, taking the dirt out of my knees, washing my hair, and removing every trace of weakness I can find. Once out, I wash my face with cold water hoping that it will deflate my puffed eyelids. I cover myself with a towel and go back to my room, take my best dress, and start putting my makeup on. I do my nails, and style my hair.

_ ‘Now  _ you look like a queen’.

I go into the kitchen, with my mind made up. My parents are long gone to their workplaces. I kneel and open the bottom cabinet. Of course, I never touch this stuff, so I’m not sure what I’m looking for until I find it.

_ ‘I’ll be eternal forever’. _

I grab the bottle I was searching for with a trembling hand, grab a mug, and pour some of the liquid on it.

_ ‘Well. There’s no way I’m dying in a kitchen, that’s for sure’. _

I make my way into the front yard and take a seat on my red chair. The sky is clear and a cold breeze relieves the heatt of the sun, which shines with strength. I look back at my house, at my room window. I get to see the oval mirror, which is a little inclined, almost looking down at me. And I feel like it’s mocking me, telling me that I don’t have the courage.

“I’ll see you in hell,” I say to it, “cheers”.

The cup approaches my lips and my breathing gets heavier. I refuse to close my eyes as I see the blue liquid slowly leaning in the cup, making its way to my lips. I can smell the chemical, and it makes me dizzy and a little scared. But I remember the real Heather looking from the window.  _ ‘There’s no way I’m turning back’ _ .

I also remember what I said to Heather Duke when she told me that Martha tried to kill herself.  _ “If I don't look perfect when I get elected Prom Queen, then I'm gonna kill myself. Although I would succeed” _ .

I resign to what I’m doing.

And when I do, something stops me.

“Hey, Heather,” says Kurt Kelly from the other side of the street, “you don’t look like yourself.”

“You don’t recognize me? I’m the same as always” I say, forcing a smile with all my strength.

“Yeah, I know. I thought that you gave up on pretending, so it’s weird now”.

“I’m not sure what you mean, can you get closer please?”.

He crosses the street and leans over the fence, with a smirk in his eyes.

“I said that I thought that you gave up on pretending, so it’s weird to see you hot like this”.

“And I said that I didn’t know what you meant, not that I didn’t hear you.”

We stare in a pretended friendly gaze until I notice his sweaty shirt.

“Are you back from practice?” I ask.

“Yeah, it was a hard one. But I do what I have to do to stay at the top.”

“I see,” I pause, “You thirsty?” I ask.

“Now that you mentioned, yes.”

My lungs seem to open, and I start to feel like I’m watching this from far away.

“Want some?” I say, offering the cup.

“You sure turned out weird. Why do you drink water from a mug?” but he accepts it. Unlike me, he takes a sip immediately, without seeing what’s inside. Without smelling what’s inside.

I see everything in slow motion. First, the confused expression, followed by a cough. 

“Because,” I answer, with a real smile this time, “I too do what I have to do.”

Suddenly his face is red. He lets go of the cup, which lends in the grass, and he grabs his neck with his hands. He falls onto the fence, and his weight makes him land all the way into my property as he begins to squirm in the ground, searching for air. He looks up at me begging for my help as he can, but he can’t talk, so he supplicates with his eyes. I feel tempted for a second to lean down so I can hear his begging, but I don’t. I’ll watch this from above. And he’ll look up at me. 

Kurt makes a desperate move and grabs my heel, but I kick his hand away. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his hold, and lets go. His squirming is slower, and his face gets redder and redder. 

Until he stops moving.

_ ‘A great color indeed’. _

  
  
  


I feel every breath I take as if I were breathing needles. The grass is poking my feet. I had to take off my heels so I could drag Kurt’s body all the way to the backyard, or they would break under the weight. As I was dragging him, I had to hold onto him so tight that my nails broke in his arm. I opened the door of the warehouse where we keep the croquet equipment.

Only I come here, my dad plays golf.

So now I’m staring at Kurt’s body next to my red mallet. His eyes look directly in my direction. Of course they can’t look, he’s dead. I killed him.

The realization hits me when I think about it that way. He will not be able to look at anything ever again. He’s on the floor, looking up, but he’s not really  _ looking _ .

“I haven’t had enough yet,” I say to him, “look at me.”

_ ‘I can’t, I’m dead.’ _

“Well stop being dead!” I scream, falling next to him and grabbing him by the shirt, “Stop being dead! Kurt, wake up!”.

I start panicking. But I’m not sure why. When I see his blue lips, I get scared. I took a life that wasn’t mine, that wasn’t my decision to make. It was an impulse.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” I cry.

But when I look in his eyes… I get angry. I didn’t want you dead, you shitty moron.

“I’m sorry, Heather, I didn’t mean to kill him this quick,” I say to myself.

_ ‘You’re so stupid. Look what you did. He can’t see you now.’ _

That thought really freaks me out.

I run out of the warehouse to my house. I get to my room slamming the door and grab my phone.

“Ram?” I say.

“Heather? I didn’t know you have my number.”

“Something just happened.”

“Why are you calling  _ me _ ? You run out of friends?” he says in a sarcastic tone.

I hold a laugh.

“You have to come and help me.”

“You? Need help? From me? Tell me it’s a stripping emergency.”

“Disgusting. No, it’s Kurt…”

“Kurt is disgusting?”

“Did you have a brain cell fugue? Tell the boys at practice to stop hitting you in the head” I calm myself, “No, Kurt is…”

He waits on the other side of the line.

“Kurt passed out in my fucking house. I think he had a heatstroke.”

  
  


“Where is he?” Ram asks.

“Inside, come on.”

“Inside? Why did he go inside? I thought he passed out.”

“He did, goose. I took him inside.”

“I kinda don’t believe you. Why would you do that? From the kindness of your heart?” he mocks, “I gotta say, if this is a trick to lead me into your house…”

I get nervous.

“I’m all for it.”

Oh right. He’s a pig.

“Shut up and take him, Ram. I don’t want any of you here.”

I lead him into my backyard.

“You ‘dragged’ him all the way here? Now I really don’t believe you. Why your backyard?”

“Wine cellar, Sherlock. I thought the smell and coldness might help.”

“Smort” he lets go a stupid laugh.

I let him walk ahead of me. He walks with her head straight. When we get to the warehouse door, I bend to grab something from the floor.

“Kinda exposed for a wine cellar. You sure this is the place?”

We enter the place.

He turns to me and looks at me, confused. He’s taller than me, so he leans a little so he can see me.

“What’s hap…?”

Enough.

A rush of electricity floods into my veins. I take impulse, and my arm moves fast with all my strength, fearing that it won’t be enough. But he doesn’t even get to see it.

The rock I’m holding smashes his head with a weird sensation. He falls backwards, and I get on top of him. The rope I prepared is lying on the floor, and I grab it quickly before Ram has a chance to recover. I tie his hands as a pool of blood comes out of his head.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say to Kurt, “this is your fault for dying so fast.”

I finish tying up his hands and with the same rope, I tie his feet.

“You know,” Ram says, numb from the loss of blood, “I had a dream like this. If Kurt finds out that I’m dying like this, he’s gonna worship me.”

“Well tell him in heaven,” I say, “cause I killed him too. But he put on a better show,” I kick him in the ribs and he lets out a groan, and I approach the tip of my heel to his chin, moving his face up, “You are not enjoying this, you piece of human waste. Look at me”

The pain erases the smile from his face. He looks at me, and in his eyes, I don’t see Kurt’s plea. He’s almost out of it, his eyelids tremble while trying to keep them open, and I can see the blood pouring out of his skull making his hair red. He’s not aware of what’s happening, I must have hit him too hard.

Ah fuck, you empty heads can’t even die right? 

Ram’s eyes go from me to the ceiling, on the edge of passing out.

“Let me get this straight. You two were accomplices of my damn fall, and now, you,” I point to Kurt “are gonna die too fast, and you“ I step on Ram’s neck “are not actually conscious?”

Ram’s blood spreads on the floor, dark and dense. His breathing gets slower and weaker until his eyes stay still in the ceiling. 

I play with my hair, looking at the scene.

_ ‘Was that fun?’ _

“Not at all. You guys are so boring,” I say.

Ram’s hands are reaching up, and Kurt’s are sloppily heading down, and I can’t help but think that these two would have been a cute couple. I laugh out loud.

“Oh shit, I haven’t eaten,” I say, and just when I’m about to head out I hear a noise coming from Kurt. For a second I think that maybe he’s not dead, but no, it’s a song. A ringtone. I approach Kurt and start searching in his pockets until I find his phone, and take it out.

_ ‘McCutie’. _

“I didn’t know you were the cheesy type,” I say to him, still watching the screen. It makes me realize something.

“Thank you, Kurt,” I say, grabbing him by both cheeks, “I forgot about this.”

I search for Ram’s phone as well and put them on the floor, grabbing my mallet.

“I’m not done with you,” I say, staring at McNamara’s name, and smash the devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my friend Frutillitas for correcting my awful english grammar (it's not my first lenguage). Te amo bb


	5. Example

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter gets really explicit (violence wise) at one point. I'm going to mark in blacks where it gets really violent, and put a note at the end summarizing that part so, if you get uncomfortable, you can continue reading the story without reading the violence.  
> To those who like this stuff, like me, let me remind you that McNamara was canonically depressed. I hope you enjoy :)

POV J.D

It’s been a couple of weeks since our most important players went missing. There are witnesses saying that they left practice, but no one has seen them since. 

No one knows what could have happened. I heard the most insolit theories. Someone suggested that maybe some guys from an enemy team had kidnapped them, and I even heard a girl saying that they had probably run away together. I remember laughing between my teeth passing by her side, and she looked at me really pissed off. And I laughed harder.

The police showed up at school and we didn’t have classes that day, instead, Ms. Fleeming talked for like an hour about how it is okay to cry or something like that, and that if any of us knew anything, no one’s mad at them so they have to say it, etc.

Bullshit.

I remember searching for Veronica’s look that day too, but I couldn’t find her. What I did find was Heather Chandler’s look. Her expression said ‘I’m so sad’. But in her eyes, like the other day, there was nothing. I wondered why for two seconds, and then I remembered that she has no feelings. Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, in that moment she turned in my direction and looked at me. I quickly turn my look in the opposite direction. And, as if God couldn’t stop mocking me, my eyes landed on Veronica’s back.

The remaining Heathers were sad for a couple of days, but now, with Prom only days away, they were making the whole school insane. The only thing that you can hear in the halls is chatter about the dance, the dates, the dresses, and there were posters with Martha’s and Chandler’s faces everywhere, even on my locker. Of course, those ended in the trash. I can’t wait for this damn year to be over, and after that, no more highschool, I will be able to do whatever the hell I want.

Until the damn date finally came, and everyone spent all day with the arrangements. Not everyone, not me, of course. I found the furthest empty classroom and read “ Les Fleurs du mal” by Baudelaire again until the bell rang.

I was on my way out when I heard a sob. I turn around, looking for the source, but it’s not in this hall. I keep walking out of here, but there it is again. Now I don’t think it’s a sob, it's more like a quiet laugh, or a mix of both.  _ ‘This is hella creepy’ _ I think,  _ ‘does this usually happen?’ _ . Normally I would be the first one to go, but I got stopped by Ms. Fleeming’s ramble. That woman is really lonely, she needs to find someone to talk with. So now I’m the only one left, or so I thought. 

I continue making my way through the halls, passing lockers and classrooms. Suddenly, a door opens, scaring the hell out of me.

“Man, you almost slapped me with that door, be caref…” I stop, seeing who it is.

“Oh, it’s you. Can I use your phone?” Heather Chandler says. Her looks are back to normal, as if those five minutes of weakness I witnessed had never happened.

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“Do I need to say it slower for you? Can-I-use-your-phone?”

“What are you doing here during after hours, why can’t you use your own phone, and why do you want  _ mine _ ?”

“I don’t want  _ your  _ phone, don’t think so highly of yourself. I need  _ a  _ phone. Mine is…” she spaces out for a bit, “dead.”

“Can’t you wait until you get home?”

“Damn it, it’s a simple yes or no question. Can I use it? Or are you that interested in my life?”

I swear to you Chandler, your ego will be the death of us all.

“Whatever, do it quick,” I say as I take out my phone from one of the many pockets of the trench coat I’m wearing and unlock it. Without thanking me, she grabs it and turns around. I pull out a cigarette and watch her… take her perfectly alive phone from her blazer pocket and copy a number on mine.

“What the hell, Chandler?”

“Could you shut up? I’m trying to think,” she says, almost without noticing. 

I let her be, thinking that it would be faster to just let her do whatever she’s doing. Her fingers move fast as she types something, but she’s giving me her back and leaning over the screen so I can’t see what she’s doing. After a minute, she looks at me and gets closer. Uncomfortably close. So close that her hair tickles my collar bone. I look at her.

“‘The fuck are you doing? Now you’re the one interested in me? Sorry, darling, but I...” she puts her hand deep in my pocket, and I feel weight in it after she takes it out.

“Okay, bye,” she says, turns around again and sprints away, with her hair slapping her back gently.

“No problem, you’re welcome!” I yell at her, watching her go. I put my hand in my pocket. She returned my phone.  _ ‘What the hell was all that?’ _ I unlock my phone again, and search for whatever looks different, but there’s nothing. Whatever she did she must have erased it.

I continue to the exit, and again something stops me. My phone rings. One, two, three times.  _ ‘That’s odd’ _ .

I don’t want to admit it, but when I look at the screen I’m hoping to see a name in particular. But no, it’s an unknown number.

_ -Oh my god _

_ -Kurt, is this really you? _

_ -I’m going _

I almost choke on my own saliva. What the hell? I guess Heather wasn’t counting on whoever this is writing back. Kurt? Is that why she needed my phone? To pretend to be Kurt Kelly?

Chandler, what the fuck are you doing?

I’m probably gonna be disappointed. It’s most likely a prank, but now I’m curious about what she’s up to. So, I throw my cigarette away and run so I don’t lose her, and when I find her, I follow her in silence.

I know my share of dark alleys, but this one creeps me out. It’s not only dark, really isolated, but it’s behind an abandoned store that doesn’t have a backdoor. So, the only way out, is the way in. There’s no way I’m going into a dark alley with no exits with Heather Chandler, although I’m not sure if I’m scared of her, or  _ for  _ her. So, I break into the store, and find a window with a back view. I hide in the darkness, trusting that my dark hair and the curtains will disguise my presence. For a couple of minutes, nothing happens. She just observes the place, with her bag hanging from her shoulder and a red croquet mallet in her hand. There are old boxes lying around, ruined because of the rain over the years. I can’t see the store’s wall, but the opposite wall has some water pipes, and graffitis all over it. And then, some quiet voices start to grow louder.

Heather Duke and Heather McNamara make an entrance, grabbing each other by the arms with a frightened look. When they see Chandler they let go and look confused.

“What are you doing here?” Duke says.

“Me? What are you doing here? Did you get the message too?” Chandler responds, leaving me in shock.

“You too?” McNamara says with an innocent tone, “why would Kurt tell you where he..?” and her face turns into a shadow.

Duke caresses her back.

“Oh, honey… I’m sorry…” she says.

“Oh my god, how bored must someone be to make a prank like this? If I find whoever did this, I’m gonna kill them. And then ask why the hell they have my number,” Chandler says, dramatically.

McNamara hugs Duke, and starts sobbing, quietly.

“Look Heather…” Chandler continues, “I know we aren’t, exactly at our best time, but I’m actually sorry.”

McNamara lets go of Duke and looks at her.

“Thank you…”

Chandler grabs her bag and takes out a bottle.

“Fuck the fucker who did this,” she opens the bottle, and makes the gesture of ‘cheers’ with it, “for Kurt and Ram,” and she takes a sip.

She raises her eyebrows, like saying  _ ‘want some?’ _ .

McNamara takes the bottle.

“For them,” she says, and takes a long sip, offering the bottle to Duke.

“For them and for  _ us _ ,” Duke says, with a hypocrite tone even I can decode before she takes a sip herself.

This is lame. I’m about to go when suddenly, Chandler turns her head to the side and spits a large amount of liquid. McNamara and Duke look at her, confused, but the look lasts just a moment before they start to stagger. They fall to the floor, unconscious.

Heather doesn’t even flinch and starts to move her passed-out friends with the same calm bored expression of someone folding their clothes.

_ ‘This is so fucked up’. _

She takes her bag again and grabs a long rope. She moves the bodies closer to the water pipes, and starts tying them up. She also ties up their feet.

She sits down, waiting for them to wake up. When they do, they start to squirm trying to set themselves free.

“Don’t even bother,” Chandler says.

“Is this a joke, Heather? Cause it’s not funny,” Duke says, still squirming.

“Shut up Heather. You’ll have your turn, I’m talking with McNamara now”.

McNamara can’t answer, she’s in shock, collapsed on the floor looking at Chandler.

“Sweetie… I expected treason from Duke, but you? Why did you do it?”

“D-do what?” McNamara’s voice cracks.

“You helped Martha Dumptruck take away my crown. I can’t have friends who betray me, you know?” she grabs her mallet.  _ ‘Is she about to do what I’m thinking?’ _ .

“I-I’m sorry Heather… I didn’t know…” McNamara barely gets to say in a crackling whisper. I didn’t even hear it, I read her lips.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. You were always kinda stupid, always following whatever someone with an inch of personality tells you to do. So I know that Duke it’s the brain behind all of this and not you. Maybe in another circumstance that would have stopped me. But I’m still disappointed, I thought you knew that I was your alpha,” she bends and pulls a hair out of McNamara’s face, “and I need to put up an example”.

She stands straight again, and I get to see Mc’s face. She’s all red, tears flood in her cheeks and her breathing is so fast that I think she’s gonna hyperventilate. Her eyes wander with an expression that I can’t decipher. She’s obviously scared, but I think she’s oblivious as to what’s happening, as if her mind is not even here anymore. As if she’s resigned on everything.

“If you can hear me, I’m kinda sorry Heather,” Chandler says, “but I think you were dead for a long time.” She bends again, and with one hand, she closes her eyes. McNamara doesn’t open them again, obeying Heather.

“See, Heather?” Chandler says to Duke, who’s watching this whole scene with a horrified expression, frightened to the core, “this is what happens when you betray me.”

As if she knew what’s about to happen, McNamara breathes in with strength and lets out a loud cry, and shuts her eyes tighter.

**And then, Heather takes impulse**. And swings her mallet with all her strength on McNamara’s head.

The first hit knocks her out, making Duke scream. The second hit makes her head bleed, and the third dents her skull. She takes a fourth hit that deforms her head, and a fifth. And suddenly I can’t count anymore, cause she’s doing it so fast and the scene is so grotesque that I can’t move a muscle to even think. Chandler hits her over and over, and even when the girl is clearly dead already, she doesn’t seem to notice, or doesn’t care. McNamara’s pretty face turns into a bleeding flesh mess, and it’s so disfigured that I can only guess it is her because of her yellow clothes. One of her eyes popped, her nose turned to one side, and her jaw is dislocated, hanging in an unnatural position. Duke’s still screaming, but the sound only reaches my ears as an echoed whisper. 

Chandler finally stops, coming back to reality. Her hands and mallet are wet with blood, her face is splashed with it too, and her blazer is even redder. She looks at Heather, dropping the mallet. 

“Oh my god, Heather!!! You fucking killed a person over a stupid highschool crown?!?! You are insane!!! Let me go!!!” Duke cries.

“First of all, I didn’t kill  _ a  _ person. I killed  _ three  _ people,” she responds in a calm voice that sends chills through my spine, “and second, I told you. This, is to set an example,” she grabs Duke’s chin and forces her to look at McNamara’s body, “THIS, Heather, is what happens, if you betray me,” she tightens her grip, “that’s gonna be you. Are you scared? Hopeless? Repentant?”

She lets go of Duke’s chin.

“I feel a little sorry for her. If you think about it, it’s your fault. She would never have betrayed me if you, envious, resentful, ugly bitch, didn’t tell her to. But yet she did listen to you, so, I can’t blame it all on you.” she reaches her bag and takes out the bottle again. She opens it and pours out the content all over Duke, who’s still screaming. Chandler reaches her pocket and takes out a lighter. I try to look at it better. It looks familiar… I reach for my own pocket and notice the thing missing. It’s  _ my  _ damn lighter! That’s what that scene of her giving back my phone was about?! What the hell is going on?! She planned that too?!

“Stop trying to sit. Lay down on the floor and look at me,” Chandler says, “look at me and beg. Beg for my forgiveness, beg for your apologies to be heard, beg for me not to  _ kill  _ you.”

Duke is out of herself, screaming at Chandler.

“You’re insane!!! You fucking crazy narcissistic fucker!!! Get your hands off me and free me right now!!! Let me go!!!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP, HEATHER,” Chandler screams louder, making Duke close her mouth, “YOU BETRAYED ME! YOU WENT BEHIND MY BACK BECAUSE YOU’RE SO  _ JEALOUS  _ OF ME THAT YOU CAN’T STAND THE FACT THAT  _ I _ WAS GOING TO BE QUEEN, AND  _ YOU  _ WERE NOT,” Chandler turns on the lighter, “you have nothing. You have no real friends, you have no real power, you have nothing special. You would never reach the bottom of my shoes and that kills you. Now, look up at me, lying on the filthy floor, a crying mess, and think about how you’re gonna die where you belong. By my hand, standing on my high heels, where I belong.”

I watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Chandler drops the lighter, and in less than a second, all of Duke’s body is in flames. She screams from the bottom of her lungs in pain, and squirms. At one point the rope burns, freeing Duke, but it’s too late. Her skin is on fire. She agonizes on the floor, and wriggles trying to approach Chandler, but she’s in too much pain to think, and Chandler avoids her easily. And by the time she stops moving, I can smell the burned flesh, and it makes me want to throw up.

I don’t know how much time I stare at Chandler looking at Duke’s remains. She only leaves once the fire goes out, leaving ashes behind. And when she turns around I can see her face clearly.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

She grabs her mallet, and her bag, and walks away, with the same stoic walk as always.

“Yes, a pretty color…” I hear her say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Chandler killed McNamara (who resigned to her destiny) hitting her in the head several times with her croquet mallet, and then tells Duke (I strongly recommend you to read this dialogue) that it was her fault for telling her to betray Chandler. After that, she kills Duke with J.D's lighter, and leaves.  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, love ya all  
> Pd: I'm so sorry for this chapter, I cried writing Mc's scene, it killed me.


End file.
